


That Colonoscopy Fic

by CommanderBunnBunn



Series: Knowing the weirdly intimate things about your platonic partner [5]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Bodily Functions, Bromance, Brotherly Bonding, Colonoscopy, Gen, Swearing, Team as Family, The drugged jack weekend, poop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26162203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderBunnBunn/pseuds/CommanderBunnBunn
Summary: Jack is due for a colonoscopy. Yeah, I wrote another poop fic, sue me.  Rated T for language.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: Knowing the weirdly intimate things about your platonic partner [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825321
Comments: 58
Kudos: 34





	1. Shits

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to all my Tango Charlie sisters and the oh so wonderful new Whiskey Charlie crew (we need a name, yo!)  
> Thanks for encouraging me to write about poop. You're monsters. Now I have a brand. And it's poop. It's every girl's dream! Well actually this is the third and final installment of the poop stories. I'm retiring my golden throne, or taking off my hat that is actually just a toilet seat, or some other weird and gross bathroom reference (I'll leave those to Mandi.) I mean I'll still write crap, but not about poop anymore. Bless you kind souls that actually read it and comment on it, you are the true heroes.

_Let's just pretend that 2020 never happened, including the Phoenix disbanding etc. Same old Phoenix fam circa 2018._

To celebrate completion of another annual "fitness for duty" Phoenix foundation physical, the team found themselves at the greasiest burger joint in town. A superstitious red meat moratorium for the previous two weeks (to lower the cholesterol count and blood pressure for the test) was overcompensated for with double bacon cheeseburgers topped with fried eggs. As per tradition, envelopes containing blood test results were opened together and celebrated as they waited for their food. The first page was the form letter, signed by Dr. McClain, declaring fitness for duty. The second page contained actual readings and acceptable ranges for those numbers to be in. This year, Jack's had a third page.

 _The Phoenix Foundation Medical Division requires a preventative colonoscopy at age 45. Please call our office to schedule your screening._ Jack's eyes widened reading the letter. Attached to the bottom third of the letter was a teal Post-it with a handwritten note. _Just kidding, the butt doctor is going on extended vacation after next week, your appointment is Monday. No rescheduling. Hahaha! -Audrey_ with a little heart after it.

"What's that?" Riley asked, grabbing the mysterious 3rd page. Her face didn't hide her amused shock. She slapped the paper down to her lap and announced, "Our old man has a colonoscopy on Monday." 

Bozer smiled and shook his head, "price of getting old, I'm sorry man."

Jack sneered, "laugh it up, fuzzball. You'll have to do it one day too."

"Not for another decade or two," Bozer added.

Jack snapped back playfully, "You should be thankful I'm around to make sure you make it to 45."

Mac also had a comment to add, "and by then technology will have advanced so much so that it won't be invasive at all."

Jack huffed, the feeling of dread already creeping up on him. Mac noticed the look and immediately changed his tune, "I'm sorry, man. No one wants to deal with that. What do you need me to do?" 

"I don't know." Jack shrugged. "You've got as much information as I do." 

The food arrived and the plates were placed in front of their respective owners as they all dug in. All except Jack. He looked at his burger, not even willing to pick it up. 

Bozer's enjoyment of his food was clearly displayed all over his face. He swallowed his bite with a satisfied exhale, "oh how I've missed you, beef." He looked toward Jack whose plate was still untouched. "Eat up, Jack, it's tradition. And a very delicious tradition at that."

"Not hungry."

Leanna put down her burger and wiped a dab of barbecue sauce from the corner of her mouth, "you fasted since last night for the blood draw like the rest of us, then ate what? A pack of peanut butter crackers afterward at 10?" She looked at her wrist where a watch would have been, "it's like six pm or something, you've got to be starving."

Jack gave the same answer, but with ten times the sass and a nostril flare of indignation, "not hungry." He stared at a deep scratch on the table next to the salt and pepper shakers for the rest of the meal. Riley grabbed a styrofoam take out carton from the counter and boxed up Jack's dinner. 

Leanna drove Bozer back to her apartment and Jack, Mac, and Riley went to the GTO. Jack turned up 80s hair metal as soon as he started the engine, not looking for conversation, for once. 

After dropping Riley off first, Jack turned into Mac's driveway and put the car in park. Mac reached for the volume knob and turned down some angry sounding Metallica. He looked at Jack with apologetic puppy dog eyes, "you wanna come in for a beer?"

Jack gave the slightest shake of his head to decline. 

"Come on, man. I'm sorry we teased you. Come have a beer with me." He waited a moment for an answer and pushed a little further, "besides, you will probably have to give up beer and alcohol for several days before the procedure. Plus drinking on an empty stomach, you're a cheap date."

Jack shut off the engine with a grunt and reluctantly followed Mac into the house. He walked straight to the back deck and took his usual adirondack chair. Mac wasn't far behind with two cold beers in hand. 

They sat in silence, looking out over the city like they'd often done after particularly jarring or emotional missions. In the middle of the 2nd beer, Mac broke the silence. "I really am sorry. We tease you a little too much about being old. You're not old. If you were, we probably wouldn't tease you about it."

"That's not even it, really." Jack finally spoke. "It's just...something I don't wanna do." He paused, "OK, yeah, the age thing too. But I mean, what if they do find something? Broken bones, pulled muscles, stab wounds, you know they're there. You know they're broken and need healin'...part of the job, I can deal with that." He took a swig of his drink, "but searching for something that might kill you just because you've existed, it kind of puts a different spin on mortality."

Mac tried to think of a way to ease Jack's anxiety, "but that's why they do the blood tests every year, they check everything. White blood cells, inflammation markers, iron levels, all that stuff would indicate a problem requiring a screening." Jack still wasn't looking at him, "just like they check cholesterol and blood pressure and all that other stuff to make sure your heart is in good shape. That's all it is. It's fine."

Jack exhaled audibly, pushing out a long held breath, "yeah, I guess so." He took another drink, "but they don't drive a car the wrong way down main street to check your heart."

Mac spit his beer out and covered his mouth to hide his laugh. "I'm sorry." Mac laughed harder, "I wasn't expecting that."

"That's what she said." Jack cracked a smile, his dumb comment marking his first checkpoint to intoxication. 

"Wow you are a cheap date." Mac smiled and pointed the neck of his bottle toward Jack for a toast of solidarity. 

"Fuck mortality." Jack exclaimed as the bottles clinked. 

***  
On Friday after work, Jack and Mac walked the aisles of the grocery store with their shopping list from the doctor to prepare for the Sunday prep day. They grabbed popsicles, Jell-o, ginger ale, chicken broth, Gatorade powder, a large bottle of Miralax and a box of Dulcolax. The suggestion for baby wipes was also heeded. 

They made big plans for Jack’s “last meal” planned for Saturday afternoon. Steak and potatoes with all of the starchy fixins’ for a proper last meal. Disappointed that he couldn’t have corn or salad, Jack opted for his very own pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream to satisfy the “green” food category. 

His anxiety was nonexistent as his chosen family grilled and socialized on Mac’s deck, no beer out of consideration for Jack’s moratorium on beer and alcohol per doctor’s orders that week.  
As the sun set on that cool evening, Mac began, “since I’m your driver monday, do you want to just stay here Sunday? Do the prep here?”

The corner of Jack’s mouth pulled up in a sneer, “we were having such a good time, why did you have to bring that up?”

“Because you need to work out what’s happening. You can do it at your place and I’ll pick you up in the morning, that’s fine, but I was just thinking we could hang out and watch movies. I read through the prep instructions, and you’re supposed to be drinking the prep until about 4 a.m. Sounds like a great opportunity for an 80s action movie marathon.” Mac tried to make it into a fun sounding time to convince Jack to stay over, knowing he was nervous about the simple procedure. He didn’t like the idea of Jack home alone fretting about the next day.

“I guess so,” Jack shrugged, acting nonchalant, but glad Mac asked him to stay. They got to work making several boxes of Jell-o, lemon for Jack, and orange and cherry for Mac and Bozer. They opted to also stick to a clear liquid diet with Jack in solidarity, luckily without food coloring restrictions. 

The boys spent the Sunday morning and afternoon chugging clear sodas, drinking hot broth and teas, frozen popsicles, and cold jello. At three, it was time to start the prep. Jack hadn’t read over the prep instructions because he didn’t want to fret over them before it was time to actually do it. Mac read them over multiple times to make sure they had everything they needed. 

Jack pulled up the instructions on his phone, “Take 2 Dulcolax. Ok. Sounds ill advised, but if they say so, I’ll do it.” He popped two out of the foil pack and swallowed them dry.

Mac argued, “you should probably take them with a lot of water, you’re going to get pretty dehydrated.”

“All I’ve done is drink my food all day, I’ll be alright, hoss.”

“Please, just drink some more water.”

Jack shrugged and filled a glass with tap water, gulping it down in seconds. He went to the next step in the prep and his eyes widened with fear.

Mac snickered and walked into the kitchen, pulling down a large pitcher from the cabinet. 

“Are they for real? The ENTIRE bottle of Miralax into 64 ounces of Gatorade? Did they get their ideas from Dumb and Dumber? Is that movie on the list for tonight?”

“No, you said only movies from before my existence, so we are going with 80s action movies in true Jack Dalton fashion. Do you want to go alphabetically or chronologically by release date?”  
“Let’s go with alphabet, what’s first?”

“Batman.”

Jack gasped, “as in 1989 Michael Keaton directed by Tim Burton, Batman?” The giddiness in his voice made it go up an octave as he spoke.

“That’s the one!” Mac confirmed and sat down on one end of the couch. 

Jack took the other end and rubbed his hands together vigorously with excitement. “Hell yeah, one of the best Batmans ever.”  
***

After a couple of hours, Jack’s tummy started to gurgle. It had grumbled off and on all day, a distinctly different sound of hunger, but this was a gurgle, and it was loud. Jack’s eyes widened and he looked to Mac, knowing he’d heard it as well.

“What did you expect when you took a double dose of laxative?” Mac laughed and checked his watch, “and in 5 minutes you get to start drinking your Lloyd Christmas cocktail.” 

“Oh man. Already? We’re not even halfway through _Beverly Hills Cop_.” Jack whined.

“You’ll probably make it halfway through Die Hard before...you know...showtime.”

Jack cringed. “At least I’ll be able to keep up with the movie in my head when I leave the room.” He walked to the refrigerator and checked the instructions on his phone. “Eight ounce glass every 15 minutes for the next hour. Ok,” he pondered. “It’s gatorade, it can’t be that bad.”

Jack poured a glass from the pitcher and chugged it in a few gulps. “Ok yeah, it’s not good. It tastes like...gatorade with more salt and some castor oil,” he shuddered. "Could be worse I guess." He sauntered back to the couch and leapt over the back of the couch into his seat. "Take us home, Axel Foley."

Mac set a timer to go off at the next three 15 minute increments for the next three doses of Gatorade/Miralax solution. 

They made it through the rest of the movie with the rumbles from Jack's belly getting louder and more frequent, but he was still mostly comfortable. 

"This isn't as bad as I thought it would be." Jack admitted. "I haven't heard my stomach make this much racket...ever, but it's fine so far."

"That's good to hear. Does that mean you wanna hold off on Die Hard a little longer? We could do Big Trouble in Little China."

"Why did you skip the A movies, man? _Aliens_ is one of the best."

Mac half shrugged, "I didn't think you'd appreciate the scene where the alien explodes out of the guy's stomach given the circumstances."

Jack's stomach grumbled right on cue, "point taken. Let's get that creepy eyeball monster thing on the screen before my man McClane."

Louder and more aggressive grumbles came and went, and as soon as the several-eyed creature showed up on screen, Jack's stomach lurched. "Oh fuck. There it goes."

He ran faster than he thought possible to the bathroom, barely making it on time. He didn't even get a chance to shut the door. Mac cringed and tried to ignore all the sounds coming from the bathroom.

"Oh God. What the fuck!" Jack repeated in different order and varying levels of panic. "Holy shit, what kind of medieval torture is this? Oh my god!"

After a few minutes, he calmed down. "Hey Mac," he called out, extending the vowel for way longer than necessary, "where's disinfectant cleaner...and toilet brush...and some gloves?"

"Oh jeez," Mac muttered under his breath, afraid of what may have happened. He hollered back, "everything's under the sink, behind the toilet paper stash."

"Thanks!" He drawled, "and I'm sorry."

Mac wasn't about to ask what he was sorry for, he didn't want to know. Jack closed the bathroom door and turned on the fan. The strong smell of bleach permeated through the door frame, and Mac shook his head.

Jack emerged a few minutes later and walked to his spot on the couch. clearly exhausted.

Mac stopped him before he sat down, “I think you have to take 2 more pills at 9, might as well go ahead and do that now before you get comfortable.”

Jack responded dedpan before turning toward the kitchen for more Dulcolax, “Comfortable doesn’t exist anymore. Only chaos and pain.”

Mac snickered silently once he was out of Jack’s line of vision. He felt genuinely bad for the man, but his change in demeanor was a little funny. 

Jack swallowed the last 2 pills and chugged a glass of water, sporting a pouty face of resignation as he joined Mac on the couch again. The movie finished and Mac moved on to _Die Hard_ without even asking for approval, knowing that was the only way to cheer Jack up. 

No sooner than John McClane made his way to baggage claim did Jack’s bowels rumble again. He whimpered, eyes closed, lips pulled in between his teeth. He held his breath, bracing for the internal earthquake to run its course. When it finished, he let the breath out slowly in a thin stream, attempting to relax back into the couch.

“Would...releasing the pressure help at all? You know, letting some of the gas out.” 

“No.” his answer was short and not elaborated upon. He waited another moment and explained, “I can’t trust it. After what just transpired in the can, I don’t know if I’ll ever trust it again.” 

Jack was so defeated, Mac couldn’t help but coo in sympathy, “I’m sorry, man. I wish there was something I could do to help.” Jack could only shake his head slowly, eyes distant and fixated on nothing in particular. 

Another series of cramping and spasms set forth another painful and noisy chain reaction that sent Jack to the bathroom again, but for not as long as the first time. The smell of bleach woffting from under the door told Mac it was over for the time being.

Jack’s shoulders sagged as he returned to the television. Mac told him, “you don’t have to clean the bathroom every time you go. It can’t be that bad.”

“Oh it is. It is _that bad_ , hoss. It is the worst. It looks like armageddon in your bowl, and I can’t with good conscience leave that kind of evidence behind.”

“Well we are the only ones here, so I’ll just promise to not go in there, and you can wait until everything is all done before you clean it. That bleach smell can’t be helping with nausea or anything.” 

Jack plopped back down on the couch with a cross between an exhale and a moan. He let the back of his head drop to the top of the couch looking utterly spent. He gritted his teeth and growled with frustration.

“Again? Already?” Mac’s shock was not covered up by the concern in his voice.

“No, no,” Jack corrected. “I almost ruined my skinny jeans. I meant to put on some stretchy pants before I sat back down. Now the thought of getting up again is...I don’t want to get up ever again. I think I'll just die right here. Just shove my carcass in that corner over there when you need your couch back.”

"That's a bit melodramatic even for you, Jack."

"You have no idea what it's like."

"Oh, yeah, I think I do."

"OK, well maybe somewhat, but this is pretty awful. And you're right about skipping Aliens. Hitting way too close to home right now. Except that alien at least gave that dude some warning before exploding from his body, this...you get like a ten second warning and then you no longer have control of your bodily functions."

"I'll get you some stretchy pants." Mac stood and patted Jack's shoulder in sympathy as he walked toward the guest room. He grabbed an oscillating fan to bring to the room too, knowing by the sweat that was clinging to Jack's clothes that he would need it sooner or later.

Jack was hot and appreciated the breeze. When he started sweating more, he knew what was coming. He pulled down his jeans and swapped them out for the old ratty sweatpants Mac had grabbed for him. There was no modesty between them, Jack had considered just hanging out in his underwear, but that would be a little too comfortable. 

Jack yanked his shirt off, the sweat made it feel heavy and miserable. He braced for another cramping spell, hoping it didn't end in another bathroom trip. It was a long and loud one, Mac could hear it over the loud booms and Beethoven synonymous with Jack's favorite film.

His toilet trip was the shortest yet. He returned looking surprisingly relieved. Jack dropped back into the corner of the couch, sitting sideways and pulling his feet onto the couch with his knees bent, finally free of the uncomfortable bloat that had haunted him for the last few hours. He pulled the cuffs of his sweats up to his knees, still hot and sweaty but actually relaxed. 

As the movie concluded, Jack unintentionally dozed off, cheek pressed into the back of the couch. Mac grabbed Jack’s phone and made sure he had an alarm set for the final dose at 0300 hours before covering him with the blanket that was always present across the back of the sofa. 

Mac went to his own bed and also set an alarm for himself to wake up in the morning to drive Jack to Medical. He also set an additional alarm to make sure Jack was up at 3 and to see if he needed company. He could tell Jack was both nervous and uncomfortable and wanted to help in any way he could. 

At 3 a.m. Jack was standing in the kitchen, looking miserable and tired. Mac rubbed his eyes and used both hands to smooth his hair back and out of his face. 

“Sleep ok?” Mac asked, interrupted by a gigantic yawn.

“Nah. Woke up at midnight, bathroom a few more times, and now the second wave is about to hit.” Jack poured the rest of the half gallon of laxative into a giant cup and started chugging. 

Jack drank about a third of the mix from the cup before he stopped and made a face like a cat with a hairball. Mac couldn’t hide his look of pity. The wordless apology on Mac’s face was enough to make Jack pause for a moment before tipping the cup up and taking down half of what was left. 

Mac struggled with whether to bring it up or not, “aren’t you supposed to drink eight ounces every fifteen minutes?”

As Jack swallowed the last mouthful with a pained wince, he shook his head. “That’s for lightweights. Keeps you from throwing up to spread it out and drink a little at a time. I can handle it.”

“Or maybe it’s to make sure everything is cleaned out?” Mac questioned.

“Oh believe me,” Jack wiped his brow with his forearm, “everything’s cleaned out already. Clean as a whistle. I think this is just for good measure I guess.” He placed the empty pitcher and glass into the sink. "You don't have to stay up with me. Go on back to bed, I'll see ya' in the morning."

Jack spent the next few miserable hours in the bathroom, folding the rug over and placing it in the tub as a cushion. There was no reason to leave the bathroom and risk getting there too late. He’d had a few close calls that night already. Games and movies ran down the battery of his phone as he sat in the tub.

He eventually dozed off and awoke to Mac knocking lightly at the bathroom door. Jack startled awake and answered weakly, cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah?” he fumbled his phone as he tried to turn on the screen to check the time. The phone clattered to the ground and slid toward the drain in the empty tub.

“You ok in there?” Mac sounded concerned after that racket.

“Yeah. Dropped my phone.” He looked at his wrist where a watch should have been, “what time is it?”

“Seven. Leave in half an hour?”

“Ok.” I’ll clean up in here.

Without even being asked, Mac returned to the bathroom 5 minutes later and knocked lightly, “I brought your clothes and a fresh towel.”

Jack tied up the trash bag full of used baby wipes and Clorox wipes from cleaning the bathroom and cracked the door to receive his clothes. “Thanks, man. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” He sat on the closed toilet lid, body shaky from the abuse it had endured plus the empty stomach consumption of over 115 grams of sugar in the Gatorade. He took a minute to get his bearings.

Relieved to finally rinse the sweat and unpleasantness from his body, Jack turned the shower on hotter than he usually did. He went to the bathroom once more for good measure and was absolutely certain he was completely empty. 

Standing up, he felt nauseated and shaky, all he’d consumed for the last day had been sugar. His entire body was protesting the abuse it just endured for the last 12 hours. The hot stream of water hitting his chapped ass actually made him yelp in pain. He hadn’t had skin worn that raw since their unintentional trek through the desert when they’d first met

Either he adjusted to the pain and got used to it, or the water was eventually actually soothing. He took longer than anticipated in the shower, so he quickly slid on the comfy track pants Mac had grabbed for him on the recommendation from the staff at Medical. His always thoughtful partner also made sure to leave a pair of Adidas slides by the door knowing that Jack probably wouldn’t been too keen on bending over to put on actual shoes. 

Jack toweled over his hair one last time, making sure it was nice and dry. He ran his hand across the top to fluff it up, despite its product free softness. He carried the wet towel to the back deck, an old habit left over from his youth, parents and grandparents always utilizing the sun and outside heat to dry wet towels and clothes. 

“You ain’t eatin, hoss? We can stop and get something on the way.”

“No, I’m good,” Mac waved off Jack’s suggestion. Jack glared and Mac fed him an explanation, “You can’t eat anything, so I’m going to abstain as well out of solidarity. We will eat together when this is all done.” Jack glared harder. “It’s almost 7:30, we will be eating before 9. That’s less than 90s minutes; I think I can survive that long.” Jack sighed and accepted that answer in resignation.


	2. Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the procedure

They went in through the back at the Phoenix where the entrance to Medical was located. Jack wasn't sure he wanted his other coworkers to see him dressed so casually, he had a reputation to uphold. His shiny track pants, well worn tee and visible toes didn't match up with the skinny jeans and boots of the Jack they knew and loved. 

The nurse that checked him in led the pair to the empty recovery area that housed only a hard plastic chair and space for a bed. She handed Jack a gown and a bag for his clothes. "Change here behind this curtain, everything off including underwear, it opens in the back, but don't tie it."

Mac turned to leave, closing the curtain for Jack, "I'll leave you to it. They'll come get me when it's time to leave."

Jack wasn't sure how to reply, so he didn't. He really didn't want Mac to leave. He couldn't really think of a good reason for Mac to stay and shrugged, pulling the curtain closed to cover that last inch of space between it and the wall. He slipped off his shirt first, folding it neatly and placing it in the bottom of the bag in the chair. Pants then underwear removed, folded, and put away. 

He wasn't sure what to do with his shoes, and it became an existential crisis. If he took them off, he'd be barefoot. In a hospital. Nasty! So he paced back and forth behind the curtain, open gown letting his ass get cold. He pinned the back of the gown together with his hand at the small of his back and continued to pace. Sure he was a little early, but what was taking so damn long.

Maybe he should sit. The rhythmic clip and clop of his sandals while pacing made his nervousness audible, and he couldn't have that. Jack picked up his white Patient Belongings bag and clutched it to his belly before sitting down. As he began his squat to descend, he realized he was about to plop his bare naked ass onto a cold plastic communal chair. Gross! 

He considered putting his bag back on the chair and sitting on it, but the plastic would most likely adhere to his ass and fall embarrassingly to the floor when someone came to get him, leaving him to bend over and pick it up. Pass. 

So he stood there, facing the curtain, clutching his plastic bag with one hand and the back of his gown with the other. He was less than a foot away from the curtain, just standing and waiting anxiously. He was frustrated with himself for being anxious. It was ridiculous and unnecessary. This was a harmless procedure. Barely even a procedure. Within an hour he'd be back at home or eating a bacon cheeseburger with fries to celebrate that it was done and over and not needed again for several more years.

He stood for an eternity, then debated going to the bathroom one last time for good measure. Remembering the painful raw sting from earlier that morning, he shut that thought down immediately. 

"Knock knock." A female voice called out. "Sorry, there's no door, so I'm stuck doing that corny bit to warn you that I'm here and need to come in. I know better than to sneak up on you secret agent types."

Jack snickered and granted her permission to open the curtain, "I'm decent, come in."

She opened the curtain, pleasantly amused by the middle aged man looking like a pre-pubescent teen caught with his pants down. Jack even blushed. 

"I'll take that." She put her hand out toward his bag and he reluctantly gave it up. "Follow me." She walked him past two doors and stopped at the restroom. "Do you need to go before we get started?" 

He nodded wordlessly, feeling so exposed and wanting to get away and stall more than anything. Big badass Delta, combat wounded, shot multiple times, broken more bones than the average stuntman, and he was nervous about a simple colonoscopy. 

Despite having nothing by mouth in the last 4 hours, he still managed to get a little pee out. With that revelation he decided it would be better to push a little harder and see if it was as empty as he felt because it would be embarrassing to get on the table and not have done his homework thoroughly. The toilet paper was not remotely soft and felt like sandpaper on his tender skin, and he made a mental note to put a memo in the company suggestion box about that. He washed his hands and splashed water on his face, cheeks hot and pink with many emotions. The running water reminded him of how unbelievably thirsty he was. He could sleep 8 hours with nothing to drink and not be thirsty, but the combination of not being allowed to drink and also being very dehydrated made it exponentially worse.

Jack emerged from the restroom and joined his nurse in the hall again, clutching his gown closed tightly. 

"Sorry, I didn't introduce myself, I'm Tori, Dr. Thornbrush's nurse anesthetist. I'll be giving you the good stuff today." 

"Jack." He offered his right hand for a shake as they slowed their pace. 

They walked a little further down the hall and she slipped into a room occupied by a tall man wearing a yellow contact isolation gown and fiddling with a long black hose marked with white measurement lines. Jack's asshole puckered at the thought, and he hesitated at the doorway. 

"Come on in and have a seat," she patted the blue sheets under and a plastic backed pad like you'd use for puppy potty training. The dude's splash resistant gear and the wee wee pad were not inspiring confidence in Jack at all. All he could think about was accidentally shitting the bed or spraying these lovely people and embarrassing the crap out of himself. Pun intended. 

There was a loud and constant hiss in the room from the equipment, like you'd hear at the dentist, but significantly louder. It made him even more nervous. 

Jack reluctantly entered and eased his bottom onto the edge of the bed. "Right in the middle please." She requested. It was situated so he'd be sitting up and reclining slightly, right on top of the puppy pad. He panicked wondering what to do with his shoes before she put another bag under his feet to catch his sandals. 

He turned and sat with his legs straight out in front and tucked the gown under his thighs to keep from showing his goods. Jack laughed nervously "I didn't know there'd be an audience." 

"Oh, sorry, my manners. This is Henry," she indicated to the other man in the room. "He's the tech." The man continued his work but acknowledged Jack with a nod. Jack was grateful for that; he wasn't sure if he wanted to make eye contact with the person that was about to drive that camera the wrong way up a one way street. 

Tori covered his legs with a warmed blanket and pulled it up to his belly. It growled with hunger as if to thank her. Jack's blush deepended. 

"Don't be embarrassed about the noises, we do this every day. It's all normal. We know you haven't had solid food in at least 24 hours, this is expected." She tied the rubber tourniquet around his arm, hoping a vein would pop up excitedly, but it didn't. His dehydration made the IV insertion a challenge, but Tori liked a challenge. 

She swabbed the skin, started the IV, and taped it down before Jack even noticed. He was too busy staring at his toes sticking up at the end of the bed, concealed by the warm blanket. He tried to do anything to distract himself from the room and its contents and what was about to happen. She hung the saline bag above the bed. "Your kidneys are gonna be so happy to get this." He felt the cold solution go into his vein and it sent a chill through his whole body. He then understood why the blanket was already warmed up for him. 

Tori put her fingers at the neck of Jack's gown and asked, "May I?" and waited for consent before pulling it down from his shoulders. He was afraid she was going to leave him naked in front of Henry and herself. She sensed his hesitation and reassured him, “it's only coming down a little bit for just a second and you can pull it right back up.” Jack gave one nod and she pulled his gown down to attach several cardiac leads to his chest. 

A monitor near the foot of the bed and facing him came to life, beeping quickly and loudly to indicate his heart racing. She attached a pulse oximeter to his finger and a blood pressure cuff to his arm. More numbers and beeping to indicate that he was irrationally and embarrassingly anxious. 

He watched her as she made sure everything was secure and situated on him. He noticed her badge and credentials hanging from her pocket. "Victoria Bailey" it read and indicated her security clearance. 

Jack tried to ease his discomfort by doing what he does best, talk. "Wow, you ve got a higher security clearance than me." He joked. 

"Yeah, I have access to the medical records of quite a few people that no one is supposed to know even exist."

"Neat." He smiled nervously showing all his teeth, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"That uncomfortable smile is seen as a fear response in primates." She began, raising an eyebrow. "Are you afraid of me?"

"No. You seem cool."

"Henry? He's a big softie. He hasn't killed anyone since Desert Storm, right Henry? You were what? A Marine? Navy? Those words seem interchangeable, but when you mix them up people get really offended."

"Marine." Henry's voice was deeper than Jack expected. Then he said nothing else.

She sat down on a stool in front of a red tool cart like he had in his own garage. 'Well I know you're not afraid of this," She waved her hand around the room, "because this is nothing." She leaned toward him with an oxygen cannula, sliding the wheeled stool toward the bed. He involuntarily turned his head away slightly, and she placed the prongs into his nostrils and hooked the tubing behind his ears, securing it under his chin.

"Well it doesn't look like nothing." Jack protested. 

"I read your medical history, you've pulled bullets out of your own flesh in the middle of nowhere, and this is scaring you? I'm sure you risk your life regularly on missions, agent, we are here to keep the assets performing at their peak. We wouldn't want to lose you to something as easily detectable and treatable as colon cancer."

"Yeah. I guess you're pretty much right. I keep hearing that it's nothing, no big deal. But I mean you're watching everything." He pointed to the monitors and fingered the oxygen tubing. "Why do I need all this, and THREE people for _nothing._ That's a mighty big toolbox you got there for _nothing._ " 

She giggled. "It's just whole lot of the same supplies." She opened the drawers and showed him the contents for good measure. "And the oxygen is just in case you forget to breathe while you're out." His eyebrows went halfway up his forehead. "Relax. You're fine. You’ll do great." 

The blood pressure cuff inflated and slowly released in spurts. She checked the computer to confirm Jack's normal heart rate and blood pressure from his visit record earlier in the month. She looked at the monitor and back at him with a concerned glare. "You have to get this down before we start anything." She ran her finger down the front of the monitor that displayed his extremely elevated BP and pulse. She turned on the oxygen as well. He crinkled his nose at the intrusive "new pool float smell."

She thought for a second, "is there any music or weird ambient noises we can play for you to calm you down and help you relax?"

"Sweetheart, I don't want any of my music to be associated with this memory."

She lit up, "Enya then. No one listens to Enya on purpose, it's just that weird music you hear sometimes on the easy listening channel or at a doctor's office."

He actually laughed, "I don't think that's gonna do it either."

"Do you have a girlfriend or anything you want me to call to hold your hand or talk to you or something? Would that help?"

"Tragically single." He confessed and gave a flirty wink. "Is there something you can give me or something? I don't...this is…"

"You wanna try some deep breathing with me?" She asked. "If we can't get your heart rate and blood pressure down, I'm afraid we'll have to reschedule."

"That sounds great. Maybe I need to try again another time." Jack was eager to try that option and sat up in the bed.

"But," she objected immediately, "you'd have to do that prep all over again."

He shook his head with a wide-eyed ghastly expression. Jack had an epiphany, "maybe there's someone you can call. My partner, he's like a brother to me. Totally rational and scientific. I trust him completely." He paused, "not that I don't trust you, you're the professional, and a very friendly face, but sometimes I guess I need my emotional support geek. If you get my phone out of my pants pocket, I can get him in here."

She scrolled a little down her computer screen. "This his number?" Jack answered in the affirmative and she pulled her phone from the tool box and began to text. Jack had no idea what she was telling Mac via text and became embarrassed. 

Mac peeked into the doorway very shortly thereafter. "You rang?"

Jack chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I guess. I just can't shake this anxiousness. Sorry, man, I didn't mean to pull you away from whatever you were doing."

Mac managed to hide the initial shock of seeing Jack with a nasal cannula and wires coming from his gown in a room full of beeping and hissing. He knew there was nothing wrong, but he'd usually only the view when something very bad had happened. It was a jarring sight regardless and he had to reign in his own fear. "I'm here for whatever you need, Jack." 

"I guess just talk to me. Distract me." Jack suggested, and Tori slid her stool over toward the head of the bed for Mac. His numbers had already lowered since Mac showed up, Tori was glad to give up her seat for him. 

She turned her back to them so as not to intrude and filled her giant syringe with a white liquid and a smaller one with a clear liquid. She checked his monitors frequently and tried to work unnoticed. She lowered the head of the bed slightly in preparation to gauge how he'd respond, but the boys were so engrossed in each other's company that nothing changed. Tori slid the rail of the bed up and locked it into position. 

She disappeared unnoticed from the room and returned a minute later, pleased that Jack's still slightly elevated numbers were so improved that she was comfortable to begin. The doctor entered right after, dressed in a similar yellow gown to Henry's. 

"I'm Libby Thornbrush, your gastroenterologist," she extended her hand to him and he shook it, not even noticing that Tori was slowly flattening the bed, "and I'm here to check out your insides today. You're in good hands." Mac stood and also greeted her with a handshake. He remained standing as Tori raised the bed to nearly elbow level.

Jack's heart rate rose slightly again, but not as badly as before. Dr. Thornbrush and Henry donned masks and full face shields before she put on her gloves. Tori asked Jack to roll onto his left side toward her and Mac. Jack laughed nervously when he noticed Tori was only wearing her scrubs, while the other two were decked out in waterproof gear. "I guess they're in the splash zone. Warning, first 3 rows may get wet." Mac blushed and laughed at Jack's comment. "I think you're in the safe zone, hoss, but you don't have to watch. I'm good."

"I'll stay till you're asleep. Ok, big guy?"

"That sounds great." Jack smiled. 

The doctor turned on the camera and announced the date, procedure, patient name and birthdate, and the time as she read it off the monitor. Jack's breath hitched, and his numbers bumped up again. He was embarrassed at how nervous he was about something so innocuous. Mac placed his hand over Jack's and smiled sweetly, the contact bringing him back down instantly.

Tori placed pressed the syringe of clear liquid into Jack's IV port, "this is so the propofol doesn't burn when it goes in." She pulled it out and replaced it with the white one, squeezing in a third of its contents. "Now you're gonna have a real nice nap."

Jack forced a grin, trying to ignore the nervous butterflies in his stomach. The hissing from the scope got louder, he looked at the tv screen in front of him and saw the waffled texture of the blanket in incredibly zoomed detail. Mac's fingers hooked over the top of Jack's hand and Jack white knuckle gripped them. 

He fought the medicine as long as he could, making eye contact with Mac for reassurance. Eyes blinking more than necessary, they fluttered in resistance, until each blink came slower, later than the previous one, eyes staying closed just a millisecond longer each time.

Jack's smile faded into his natural resting scowl, which always reminded Mac of how much time Jack actually spent actively smiling. His eyes closed slowly and opened once more, at seeing Mac, he flashed a genuine smile that reached his eyes before they slid closed gently. Mac couldn't help but smile back and squeeze his hand in support. All at once, Jack's grip released and his face relaxed into his pillow as the drug took hold completely.

"He's out." Tori told the doctor. Henry folded the blanket over to reveal Jack's backside. Mac turned his head as if he'd not seen Jack's bare ass dozens of times over the years. "You can stay, or go, either way." Tori told Mac. He was genuinely intrigued by the procedure itself and would have liked to watch the screen, but not with Jack. Despite all they'd been through together, it felt uncomfortably intrusive to Mac. 

He'd glanced at the screen on his way out and decided he'd made the right decision. "Maybe next time." He told her as he exited and went back to the lab to kill some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my favorite chapter, and I have no idea why. I really enjoyed writing it.


	3. Raw Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's filter is gone

Henry and Tori wheeled the bed to the recovery area before he helped her roll Jack onto his back and readjust the blanket to keep him cozy. Freed from the heart monitor and oxygen, Jack was just taking an intense nap while at work, nothing new.

Knowing better than to attempt to wake an agent whose history you only know on paper, Tori called Mac in to assist. Mac placed his hand lightly on Jack’s shoulder, “Hey big guy, time to wake up. You’re all done.”

Jack grunted and rolled over to turn his back to Mac. Then he pulled the blanket over his head and tucked his knees toward his chest. Mac snickered at the thought of Mama Dalton waking a teenaged Jack for school and getting this same reaction. Mac pulled the blanket back down to his shoulders, and Jack was already out hard again. 

“Come on, get up. It’s time to go eat. I’m sure your’re starving.” Mac’s words didn’t even register. Jack was a light sleeper in that he was always in tune to his surroundings. He could sleep through anything innocuous, but would be alert in seconds when he heard something that didn’t sit right with him. The combination of the drugs, the safety of his location, and Mac’s presence had him out like a light; he even snored a little. 

The saline bag was almost empty, and another patient was due to come in for their appointment in the next half hour. Of course they _could_ have arranged for Jack to be moved somewhere else to sleep it off. Mac was actually starting to feel really hungry, not that he was being selfish, he wouldn’t think of it, but it was definitely time to get up and get out of Medical. They spent too much time in there when they were banged up, why spend more when they’re well? 

Mac tugged at the blanket and draped the edge over the bed rail, making a tent over Jack and allowing a cold breeze to flow down his back. Annoyed, Jack rolled violently to his stomach to ratchet the blanket back over himself and rolled back over it, effectively tucking himself back in to a cozy coccoon. 

Not quite sure how to rationalize waking to a stubborn drugged Delta, Mac tried threats. “If you don’t get up, I’ll get your pal, Audrey, to help.” Jack’s only response was to pass gas, long and loudly, making Mac snicker like a child as Tori returned.

Embarrassed that he was laughing, Mac straightened up quickly as Tori activated the blood pressure cuff again. She told him, “the procedure pumps the large intestine full of air, he should be encouraged to expel it like that until the bloat goes away.” 

Mac’s facial shrug of acceptance at being Macsplained was followed by a question, “any tricks to this? He’s usually really responsive to waking up, this is a new situation for me.” 

“You boys have been brought in here enough unconscious or very broken, or so I’ve read, I find it hard to believe that you’ve not had to wake him from a drug induced nap.” 

“No, I usually just let him sleep. He can be kind of a cranky toddler.” 

“You don't wake him even with a concussion?”

“He gave me a black eye once when I did that. It didn’t bother me, but the guilt he harbored from knowing he did it was enough for me not to try it again. I’d wake him and let him go right back to sleep. You’ve got to pick your battles when it comes to Jack.” 

“Yeah, I guess I can see that.” she agreed. “You’ll just have to keep on bugging him until he gets up, I guess. That’s what I usually do, but in a pleasant and professional manner. You can do what you want, just be persistent.”

Mac went to poking the divot on the back of Jack’s neck just below his hairline. He poked and poked, eventually tapping a syncopated rhythm between the beeps of the pulse ox counting his slowed heart rate out loud. It amused him, but didn’t do much to rouse Jack. His heart rate didn’t even increase. 

The next attempt was tickling. Mac had heard from Diane (and wished he hadn’t) that Jack had a very ticklish spot. Feeling a little weird about it, Mac checked to make sure Tori had scampered off to prepare for their next patient. He was kind of curious who it was going to be, but there was no way to really find out without running into them on the way in. 

Jack was curled up and hugging a pillow, so Mac could easily access the tickle spot, between the 4th and 5th rib on one side, but not the other. As he’d never tested the fool proof tickle spot, he hoped he’d remembered the right place. With a gentle waggle of his fingertip, Mac kicked a hornet’s nest. Jack’s arm slid back, knocking Mac’s out of the way as Jack rolled onto his back. 

He stared Mac down with the scariest death glare he’d ever seen from Jack. “Do that again, and I’ll tear your arm off and beat you with it.”

Mac crossed his arms innocently and tucked his hands behind his elbows. Jack was asleep again immediately. Plan C, or D or some other letter way down the alphabet would hopefully work. He thought for a moment and spurted out, “Metallica’s black album was overrated.” Jack snarled like an angry dog. “OK, ok. I didn’t mean that.” Mac took a step back from the bedside. “But what if I stood here and sang _Enter Sandman_ , but in a major key instead of a minor one. Make it a poppy fun song.” Mac spoke with some pep. After no reaction, Mac backpedaled, “you’d probably enjoy that, actually. Finally getting me to sing something. That’s your plan, isn’t it? You devious bastard.” 

Surprisingly amused by his one sided conversation, Mac pressed the button to raise the head of the bed into a more upright and yet reclined position. Jack swatted at Mac’s hand on the button. Jack whined, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. “Leave me alone. I’m fuckin tired.” Now sitting upright he pulled the blanket over his head and attempted to roll away from Mac again. It didn’t work because of the angle, but he managed to at least give him the cold shoulder and a full moon. 

Mac was about to suggest to Jack that they wheel him down, bare assed, to the war room to see how he’d react to that one when he was smacked with an epiphany. “Come on Jack, get up. I’m hungry, and we’re supposed to go get something to eat together.” 

Jack huffed and sighed, rolling over and opening his eyes. The blanket pooled to his waist as he sat up. He shrugged the gown off one arm, but the IV prevented the other sleeve from being taken off. He went to yank it out himself. Even in his groggy state, his intentions were obvious, and Mac stopped him before it happened. 

“No no nononono,” Mac covered the tape with his own hand and batted Jack’s away with his other. He saw Tori approach out of the corner of his eye and held steady until she came to help. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” she exclaimed cheerily, and Jack responded with a sneer. “If you’re ready to get out of here, let me get one last BP read, then I’ll take that out and let you go.”

He flicked the pulse oximeter off his fingertip and continued to smirk like a toddler in time out. Mac caught it and looped it over the back of the machine. With a suitable blood pressure revealed, she unfastened the velcroed cuff and draped it across the back of the bed. 

As he sulked, Jack noticed a little electrode still stuck to his chest. He picked at it with one finger as Tori grabbed gloves, gauze, and a bandage. He didn’t even notice when she pulled the Tegaderm off his IV, he was too busy cringing at the pull of the skin under the electrode and picking at the adhesive left behind it. 

“Let me,” Mac suggested as he painlessly yanked off the one by his shoulder, then the other three in quick succession. Jack was free of everything before he even noticed. He was still picking at the leftover adhesive and rolling it between his fingers, mesmerized. 

Tori placed the bags with Jack’s clothes on the foot of the bed, “it was a pleasure meeting you. The doctor will be by to speak with you in a moment.” 

As if on cue, Dr. Thornbrush appeared from around the corner. “Good morning again, Agent Dalton.” She smiled opening a manilla file folder and taking out a paper inside. She addressed Mac as if Jack wasn’t there, “Everything looks good, we took out a couple of polyps, they go to pathology regardless, so when he gets a letter in a week about biopsies, don’t let him freak out.”

Jack scrunched his face like he wasn’t hearing right, why were they talking like he wasn’t there? He looked at Mac to confirm that he was indeed there and not a ghost or figment of Mac’s imagination in his own fever dream. Mac tilted his head sideways just slightly, indicating that he also shared Jack’s confusion. 

She handed Mac the papers with some pictures taken by the scope, discharge information, and an envelope to send back to rate the level of service they were given. “Oh,” she smiled, “he won’t remember any of this later. Tomorrow he’ll remember less. It’s the drugs. Eventually, he’ll probably just remember arriving here in the morning and maybe a few out of context blips from the rest of today.”

“That seems...dangerous.” Mac was concerned.

“No, he’s fine. Expect bloating, make sure he passes gas, a little rectal bleeding is normal, and we put a little diaper rash cream back there, looks like the poor guy had a rough prep last night." She addressed Jack with a saccharine smile most people reserve for babies and puppies, "don’t drive, operate heavy machinery, or sign any legal papers.” She explained as she pulled a pen from her coat pocket and handed it to Jack, “Now sign here.” She held out a very wordy piece of paper supported by the folder to Jack, and he signed with a squiggle next to a neon green arrow. She moved the paper to Mac and nodded to it for him to sign as well. He looked alarmed at the way she coaxed Jack to sign without any explanation after telling him not to sign things, “it says he shouldn’t drive, operate heavy machinery, or sign any legal documents today, and also that you will make sure he doesn’t. It’s just in Phoenix legalese and will all be redacted in his file I’m sure.”

“Ah,” Mac nodded his realization. 

“Now get dressed. Go eat. I’m sure you’re starving, try to avoid greasy and leafy. Something nice and gentle like pancakes.” She extended her hand to each man, one at a time for a shake, “Nice to meet you two.” She turned on her heel and left them alone, pulling the curtain behind her. 

Despite all their years together, Mac was having difficulty deciphering Jack’s current mental state. Was he upset or just dazed and confused? “Jack?” 

“Hmmm.” he turned his head toward Mac, blinking slowly and smiling, “hey.” 

Dazed. Mac was ok with that. “You wanna get dressed?” Jack affirmed with a slow nod, looking at the bag of clothes at the end of the bed by his feet. Mac put the bed rail down and Jack dangled his legs over the side of the bed. His blanket and gown pooled over his lap. Jack dug through the bag for his underwear, taking longer than it should have. He pulled them out and bent over to stick his feet through the leg holes. When he bent over, he tipped forward almost toppling over, the almost part being fully because of Mac. He’d quickly jumped up and over to the bed, using his arm to hold Jack up, keeping him from falling face first into the floor.

“Let me help you with that.” He hooked Jack’s underwear over his feet and pulled them above his knees. Then he grabbed the track pants and bunched one leg from the cuff all the way up before sliding it over Jack’s foot. He did the same for the other leg and pulled them up just over Jack’s knees, while Jack just sat there dazed and staring unfocused at the wall ahead, not protesting for being dressed like a child. “You good?” 

“Mmhmm.” Jack nodded. “You?”

Mac laughed, “of course.” He grabbed Jack’s shoes and slid them on as well. “Here, hold on to my shoulder and stand so we can pull your pants up.”

Obediently, Jack slid off the side of the bed, blanket and gown falling to the side. Jack stood naked with his pants around his knees. No jokes, no protesting, Mac was almost disappointed that Jack wasn’t being goofy. 

When he was sure Jack was steady enough standing on his own, he bent over and pulled the underwear and pants the rest of the way up together, stretching the waistbands out as far as possible to slide them up. He was thankful the stretchy pants were recommended by some kind and thoughtful soul, mostly because the bloat Jack was experiencing was obvious, and also because helping another grown man pull up his pants involved...obstacles. 

Mac spread his fingers to stretch the pants more open in the front as he inched them up slowly when Jack piped up, “hey, watch my tackle box.” He said it in a monotone that confused Mac. He wasn’t sure if Jack meant watch out for it, or watch because it was going to do a trick, which made Mac laugh.

“You laughin’ at my junk? Rude.” Jack sassed and Mac pulled them the rest of the way up quickly and released the waistband with a pop. Jack protested and squirmed, “that’s not how I tuck it in. I dress left."

Mac took a step back with his hands up, "that's on you, man."

Jack's hand plunged down the front of his pants, and he adjusted his package to his liking. He looked down and lifted his foot to resituate his shoes with a slight waver in his stance. Mac was back at his side in an instant with a hand on his back and the other ready to steady Jack if he lost his balance.

"Let's get your shirt on. Have a seat." 

Jack obeyed, then wondered why he was being so compliant. He wasn't sure why but didn't really care either. 

Mac ruched the t-shirt from top to bottom and Jack lifted his arms out in front, leaning forward so that Mac could easily slide the shirt up to his shoulders. From there Jack raised his arms in the air so Mac could pull the shirt over his shoulders and down, all the while wondering how many times they'd done this song and dance before for it to feel this practiced, not at all awkward -broken arms, bullet holes, arm slings. Mac tugged on the hem of the shirt until Jack's head popped out of the neckhole, hair on end from the static electricity and suddenly grinning like a baby playing peek-a-boo. 

Mac couldn't help but notice Jack shivering. It was not something he did often, and it didn't stop once he woke up and got dressed. Mac slid off his own oversized hoodie he'd grabbed from his gym locker. He didn't want anyone to mistake him for being "at work" when he was just there to take care of his best friend. As Jack would never take clothes off Mac's back since that boy was always cold, Mac hoped that drugged up Jack didn't notice that he just taken it off before handing it over prewarmed by his own bodyheat. He was pretty sure it was Jack's hoodie anyway. 

After he slid the jacket onto Jack's arms and pulled it closed, Mac fastened and zipped the front and pulled the hood over Jack's hair. Mac took Jack's arm to guide him to standing, "hey, let's get you over to this chair for safe keeping. I'm going to pull the car around."

Jack shrugged off his arm and gripped the side of the bed with both hands. He slid off gently until his feet were planted firmly to the floor. The gown tried to follow him and Jack tossed it back onto the bed, noticing that the pad where he'd been sitting had a fair amount of blood on it. In typical Jack fashion, he quickly folded it over to hide any evidence of weakness from Mac before he glided slowly to the hard plastic chair against the wall. 

"You good?" Mac asked, shocked at his partner's reticence. Jack nodded and Mac squnched his brows together, shaking his head in astonishment. "Stay put until they come get you. Ok?" Another silent nod and Mac disappeared down the hall with lingering worry about his best friend.

The nurse who'd checked him in earlier made tire screech noises with her mouth as she pulled up and parked the wheelchair next to Jack. He stared at her wide eyed. 

"Come on," she coaxed in an overly sweet voice, "this is your ride, get in." He gave her an offended look. "It's policy.” She stated, losing the cheer in her tone. "Do you need a hand up?" She offered her arm for support, but he declined and half stood, shuffling two steps to the wheelchair before plopping down with zero resistance. He pressed his shoes into the stirrups and propped his cheek on his closed fist, pulling his hood down to conceal his identity as he rolled his eyes. 

Mac was already waiting at the passenger door to help Jack into the Jeep. Of course the help was refused, and they rode in silence off the property. "So what do you want to eat to break this extended involuntary fasting?" Mac handed Jack a bottle of water.

"Not hungry. Tired." 

Two word answers were never Jack's thing. Mac thought he must be feeling pretty poorly to be so taciturn. The only way he could think to cheer Jack up was to use his own techniques against him and get chatty. “We can go to that crazy pancake place where you choose your own crepe fillings and pancake ingredients. I won’t even shame you for eating chocolate chocolate chip pancakes topped with almond m&ms, caramel, and whipped cream with a side of maple sausage. What did you call it? Buddy the Elf breakfast.”

Jack smiled a little, “I’m not hungry. The thought of all that sugar makes my stomach turn.” Mac’s prodding seemed to help. Two sentences was better than two words, but Jack was quiet again. He hadn’t opened the offered water either, instead it sat in the cup holder. Mac cracked the cap on it and handed the now open bottle to Jack to drink, hoping he’d not need any more coaxing to re-hydrate. 

“Well what are you thinking about then?” Mac asked, hoping that he could guide Jack toward a food choice, but it backfired. 

Jack’s verbal flood gates opened. “I’m thinking I should have shaved my balls.”

Mac’s eyes widened and he looked straight ahead. 

Jack continued, “or waxed my asscrack. You know those Brazilian wax places where women go and get rid of all of the hair? and I mean ALL of the hair. I should have had them wax my ass. I did it once, and you don’t know how much hair you have in your ass until you have none in there and then it grows back. Man I got a hairy ass. Everyone has a hairy ass. You can’t even grow a beard and I betcha you have hair in your ass.”

Mac blinked repeatedly, dumbfounded. “All right then. I’m sorry I asked. I was actually talking about food. What _food_ were you thinking about?”

Jack shrugged and was back to quiet again, dazed and swaying with the movements of the Jeep. At a red light, Jack’s tummy rumbled again. Mac wasn’t sure what kind of distressed noise it was, but Jack’s face scrunched up in discomfort. “You ok over there?” Mac asked. Jack’s face slowly unclenched as he released some of the pressure from his gut.

“Yeah. Just really bloated. Reminds me of that time you had the bubble guts when we went on that hike. Man, that was... I dunno what it was, but it was.” Jack snickered then began giggling to himself. “Man, you were like a donkey with like...a lot of...like you were gassy, man. I felt real bad for you. I’m holding this in, and it wants out, and I guess that’s what you were feelin’ then too. Man you shoulda let it out. I wanna let it out, but I don’t trust it, ya’ know?”

“I think you’re supposed to let it out.” Mac explained, remembering the doctor’s request. “You’ve never been self conscious about that before, just let ‘er rip. I’m not sure why you’re being so shy. Post anesthesia Jack usually has no filter, I’m kind of worried that they broke you.” Mac paused for a second, starting to sound like a mother-henning Jack. “You usually wake up yelling for me, and you never stop with the ‘I love you, brother!’” he said in his best Jack impersonation. “So yeah, it’s throwing me off a little that you’re just quiet.”

Jack nodded his head, but didn’t say anything further. They sat in silence again for a few minutes, Mac growing more uncomfortable as time passed. Jack spoke up, “I wish I was Deadpool.”

Mac wasn’t actually sure what he heard. “What?”

“I wish I was Deadpool, man. I really admire him. He’s badass and indestructible.” Jack looked Mac up and down, “you’ve got the build. Lean and muscular. I’ve got girth. I’m like if Deadpool and Wolverine had a human baby.” 

It was one of the more unusual non-sequitirs, but Mac was glad Jack was back to talking...rambling.

“I mean I could be Deadpool, he was special forces, like me. He loves Salt n Pepa, like me. He has a high kill count, like me. He likes to play skee ball, he makes lots of pop culture references, he has a potty mouth. I could be Deadpool. You think I could get those powers, but not get all wrinkly?” His word vomit continued. “Because Ryan Reynolds is very handsome, but that burnt walnut look even made People’s Sexiest Man Alive 2010 look ugly.”

Jack’s raging mancrush on Ryan Reynolds, was always a source of amusement for Mac. He was amazed at the sheer amount of information he had on the man. He had a feeling there was more of that tangent coming.

“I’m handsome too. I’m only a couple years older than him.” Jack began gushing, “he’s so funny and talented, with a hot wife, a beautiful family, a few gray streaks to make him look distinguished,” his shoulders sank. “I had a perfect woman too. Twice. Now I got nothin. Forty-five and single. No kids. No super powers. More gray hair than brown. Alone forever.” Jack sighed audibly.

Mac was definitely not expecting a down trodden mopey Jack, he needed to reel him back in. “Jack,” he was stern, “you’re not alone. You have a family that loves you very much. You’ve got us, your family. Bozer, Riley, Matty...me. You are definitely loved. You couldn’t get rid of us if you tried. Hate to break it to you, you’re stuck with me for life. Something about a wookie life debt.”

Jack smiled and made a wookie noise. “Thanks, hoss. I love you too.” He put his feet up on the dash, feeling more carefree and comfortable as time passed. He even passed gas and giggled like a little kid while doing it. 

For a long moment Jack was quiet again, then he started another strange rant, "you know how when you eat Sugar Smacks cereal and then later your pee smells like it?"

"No. No, I don't know anything about that. I don't even know what Sugar Smacks is."

"I don't know what it's called now, they changed the name in the 90s I think, but I remember when my sister and I would wake up before our parents on Saturday morning to watch cartoons, and we'd get hungry and not wanna wait for Ma' to wake up and make bacon, so she'd climb up on my shoulders and grab the Sugar Smacks out of the pantry, and we'd have a bowl each, and then we'd wash and dry those dishes to hide the evidence so that Ma' would still cook us bacon." Jack continued without even taking a break, "and we had to hold our pee until after breakfast because when you eat that cereal, your pee smells just like it. And if Ma' knew we'd already eaten, she wouldn't waste time making another breakfast. So we couldn't go pee until after we had our bacon. Or sometimes I'd go outside" he made quotation marks with his fingers, "and 'run the dogs' for a minute, but what I was really doing was pissin' in the lake so that no one inside the house would smell it."

Mac shook his head, "I've learned way too much about your bodily functions in the last twelve hours. Let's decide what you want to eat."

"I don't have a taste for anything. And I'm not dressed to go inside to eat anywhere." He wiggled his toes as he stared at them. 

"Nobody knows you don't wear stretchy pants and sandals every day. It's normal for a lot of people. But if you don't want to go inside, that's OK. I think I have a plan now anyway."

The Jeep pulled into the local mom and pop burger joint that Jack loved so much; Mac left his partner in the car unattended and went inside to grab the food. He returned with two chicken, egg, and cheese biscuits and two cookies ‘n cream milkshakes with the straws already inserted. Mac told him, “i know you were a little sugared out after last night, but I think this will be pretty mild on your stomach and not too heavy as a first meal.” 

Jack took a tentative sip of the milkshake, swallowed noticeably, and closed his eyes. For a moment, Mac wasn’t sure if he’d made the right call, until Jack smiled and moaned sensually, “oh yeah, that’s exactly what I needed.” 

Mac got back on the road, sipping his own shake while Jack drank his slowly but steadily, feeling ravenous after teasing his stomach with a little bit of sustenance. Jack slurped the remaining dredges of milkshake loudly a few minutes later. 

It was strange to Mac to have to suggest or coax Jack into things he’d normally be excited to do. Mac waffled between trying to get Jack to eat or waiting until they got back to Mac’s place. They were less than five minutes out, so he chose to wait, not wanting to stuff Jack with too much too quickly. 

Back at Mac’s house, they took their normal spots on the couch, and Jack made no effort to go for his food. Mac unwrapped and presented the biscuit sandwich to Jack, which he took without question and ate. Mac could have handed him a sandwich made of sawdust and razorblades, and Jack would have taken it and eaten it. He was unnerved by how suggestible and docile his partner was. Jack silently and deliberately ate his breakfast, content to sit there after he finished, staring at nothing.

Mac couldn’t handle it, it made him anxious so he grabbed the tv remote. “Anything you want to watch?”

“Nah,” Jack answered, still shivering occasionally, frustratingly apathetic about everything. He propped his elbow up on the arm of the couch and rested his cheek in his palm, looking like a zombie.

Mac turned on the tv just to quell his own discomfort. Why was he so bothered? Jack wasn’t refusing to be cared for or not taking care of himself, he complies without question or is completely zoned out. Mac was starting to get why Jack was always so high strung when it came to caring for Mac. 

“Hey man,” Jack finally broke his silence, “thanks for taking me today.” Mac was about to tell Jack it was his pleasure to help, but Jack continued, “I wish I coulda been around more to help my old man. I feel bad about that. He was sick, and I wasn't there. I missed it all. He was a good dad, and he left me. I miss my Pop. I don’t wanna leave you.”

Mac tried to hide the hitch in his breath and engage the brakes on the emotional roller coaster. “I’d do anything for you, you know that. I also know that you’d do anything for me, without question. So that’s not something you will ever have to worry about. You’re stuck with me for good.”

“You promise? You promise you won’t push me away like I did my dad? And then was too damn pig headed to try to fix it before it was too late.” Jack asked, blinking back tears that threatened to form. 

“I swear.” Mac answered, knowing there was a 50/50 chance Jack would bust out some 90s R&B slow jams, actually kind of hoping, for once, that he would.

“You pinky swear?” Jack smiled shyly and reached his arm towards Mac, pinky extended.

“Yeah.” Mac locked his finger with Jack’s and tugged. “You ok now?” Jack nodded and pulled himself up into a little ball still unable to get warm enough. “Hey, come here.” Mac patted the cushion next to his thigh and put his arm across the back of the couch.

Jack scooted over toward Mac and tucked himself in under Mac’s arm, letting Mac squeeze his shoulders in a quick side bro hug before relaxing his arm back across the back of the couch. Jack didn’t move back to his seat, he turned slightly and pressed his back into Mac’s side and nestled his shoulder into Mac’s armpit, taking in the soothing warmth coming off of his friend as the next episode of How it’s Made came on. 

Jack yawned and went off on another tangent, “this episode creeps me out, I don’t think I could shove one onto my eyeball after watching that.” Jack confessed about the episode on how contact lenses are made. “It’s so much work to make something so tiny. And it’s something so tiny that makes such a huge difference, like life changing. You can’t see one second, and then you can see. It’s crazy, man. Like magic.”

“Actually,” Mac began, “they float on your cornea and correct the refractive errors…” he stopped when he felt a weight increasing on his arm and listened closely to Jack’s soft breathing. Mac hooked his forearm across Jack’s chest to keep him from toppling forward as he fell asleep. 

Once Mac was sure he was good and out, he gently lowered Jack down to the couch as he unlatched himself from his partner. Supporting the side of Jack’s head with one hand, he grabbed a pillow and tucked it under his ear. Mac draped the couch blanket over his best friend once again and made sure there were no drafty openings. 

Jack let out a pathetic longing moan in his sleep just as Mac left the room. Mac hustled back to the couch with a pillow and softer blanket. He situated his partner and made sure he was comfortable and cozy before taking a seat on the floor in front of Jack, knowing he would sleep better with Mac in close proximity. He listened carefully for any more distress noises and when there were none, he settled into his Overwatch position, trying to relax his muscles, although he knew his back would complain tomorrow. He had a partner to look over and there was nothing that would deter Mac from doing that. As an afterthought he grabbed Jack's hand and placed it on his own shoulder, then squeezed before leaving his hand on top of Jack's. Jack made a content sound and his breathing evened out as Mac squeezed back then promised Jack solemnly, “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have very song feelings about colon health. It's very important (and easy to tackle!) And often overlooked or just not talked about because it's poo related. As far as I know, everybody poops, so let's take the stigma away. Of course this colonoscopy fic was my endgame/ after school special that I was priming everybody for with the first ones! Yes, I had an agenda! 
> 
> And bless you all that commented about the uncomfortable topics being relatable. Everybody does it!


End file.
